User blog comment:Biggren/The Northern March Original/@comment-3135907-20160131070425/@comment-3135907-20160608152605

The younger hare gasped as he was jerked upright, his own dagger held to his throat by a scowling stoatess.

"Hares," hissed a rat beside her. "Lucky!"

"Shh," the stoatess murmured back before addressing Grimear: "Yew there. Wot's yer names? Ow many more are there o' yer? Did they get t' yew lot, too?" She raised her head high, waving the dagger around to emphasize her points. Then she brought it back to Feffle's throat. "Quick, hare, or I make 'is throat laugh blood."